


Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin

by AlexisDanaan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisDanaan/pseuds/AlexisDanaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So what if he was always a gentleman and charming? So what if he made her laugh? So what if her stomach jumped, her palms sweat and her heart raced every time he entered a room? It was nothing more than physical attraction. O/S EWE</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to forthelongestday for reading this again and again...and then again when I changed it for the fourth time. She's the bestest!

Hermione Granger woke with a stretch and a groan. Her head was fuzzy, her mouth thick with sleep and...something else. She couldn't quite remember and she experienced that irritating sensation when the memory of something danced wickedly in the recesses of your mind but not close enough to be of any use. She felt the warm comfort of a body beside her, pressed intimately against her skin and she shifted towards it, throwing a lazy arm around a narrow waist and burying her face in the familiar skin of Ron's chest. She smiled softly to herself and placed a gentle kiss to his ribs with her eyes still closed. She felt a little off kilter and wanted to continue sleeping for as long as it took for the slight buzz in her head and the unease in her stomach to go away. With a deep sigh, she burrowed closer to the warmth of Ron with every intention of nodding right off.

Unfortunately for Hermione, who might have been able to delay the horrors of reality for a bit longer, her brain chose that exact moment to fully wake up and register what was going on around her.

She froze, her body stiff and her eyes still closed, as her mind raced.

The person beside her could not _possibly_ be Ron Weasley. She and Ron had broken up nearly 8 months prior and unless they had severely regressed in their efforts to be 'just friends', she was not snuggling up to Ron.

She took a tentative sniff, it was what had set the alarm bells off in her brain, and realized that the light scent of lemons and whiskey was not how Ron would smell. He always had an earthier aroma to him, pine and musk. Eau de man. This smelled...lighter, somehow? She tried to breathe normally through her nose so as not to alert her bed companion to the fact that she was now wide awake and having a panic attack. There was still that tell tale scent of a man but it was different from Ron, cleaner somehow. She slowly cracked one eye open. All she could see was the pale expanse of a lightly toned chest and the smattering of blonde hair around nipples. Ever so slowly, she began to move her arm from where she had foolishly cast it around this man's waist.

"Awake, are you?" a muffled voice asked her.

She jumped, nearly sky high, and ripped herself away from the man in her bed.

She _knew_ that voice.

Gathering the sheets around her, she stared in horror at the slightly smirking face of one Draco Malfoy who was sprawled contentedly in the bed next to her.

"I...I..." Hermione stammered, trying to find the words that would explain the impossible. Her mind was racing, trying to find a coherent path through her memories of the night before. She remembered going to the Ministry Social, all employees were forced to attend because it was a giant publicity stunt and they wanted to make the right impression with the public, and she remembered dancing clumsily with Harry. He had been her date since Ginny was away with the Harpies at the time and Hermione was pitifully single. She remembered that she had been drinking more than usual that night, downing whatever the bar tender handed her, because Ron had showed up with Lavender Brown on his arm and it brought back some rather bitter memories. She knew that she had no reason to begrudge him for dating—hell, she had been the one to end things—but she couldn't stop reflecting on the fact that she was single while _he_ was back with Lavender. Hermione had always prided herself on being smart...except for when it came to Ronald Weasley.

"Is that any way to greet your husband?" Malfoy drawled lazily, stretching beside her and bringing her back to the present. She gasped in horror, letting out a shriek that probably broke the record for what decibel a human scream could reach, and nearly fell off the bed. Malfoy, reflexes as quick as ever, reached out and snatched one of her flailing hands before she had the chance to acquire a head injury. With a sharp yank on her arm, he pulled her back onto the bed with so much force that she fell face first into his chest.

"Oh god," Hermione moaned, pushing herself up and trying to keep the sheet modestly covering her body. She could feel the effects of all those drinks and she suddenly understood why she had felt fuzzy and slightly nauseous. She was extremely hung over. "I think I'm going to be sick," she moaned again.

"Do you have any hangover potion?" Malfoy asked, his voice suddenly soft. She was thankful that he wasn't yelling yet, he was usually yelling at her, and she nodded slowly. "Where is it, Granger?"

"Bathroom, down the hall," she mumbled, dropping her head into her hands. "Behind the mirror above the sink."

She felt him move from the bed and looked up in time to see him walking out of her room as naked as the day he was born. Unless, of course, Malfoy's were born with designer robes on. She quickly hid her face in her hands again, not wanting to see the muscled back and round arse of the man who drove her absolutely insane most days. If she didn't see him naked, perhaps that meant it hadn't happened. Perhaps she could deny that she had ever felt anything for Malfoy other than sheer frustration and hatred. _Okay, hate is a little far_ , she instantly corrected herself. She didn't hate Malfoy, she hadn't for a very long time. They hadn't been in school for nearly eight years now, they were twenty-five years old and fully grown, and _sometimes_ they were capable of acting like it. Sometimes.

Both Malfoy and Hermione worked for the Unspeakables, she in Spells & Research, he in Potions & Research. Their jobs overlapped, which meant that they often worked together. Which meant that they often _fought_ together. If anyone ever asked, and they still did sometimes, she would be the first one to jump on his side and declare to the world that Draco Malfoy had changed from when he was an impressionable teenager under the thumb of his father. In fact, she told anyone that would listen—including at his trial—that Draco had begun changing long before the war had ended. Harry had testified that Malfoy had been unable to complete his mission to kill Dumbledore, that he had lowered his wand and Hermione had testified that he had refused to identify her, Ron and Harry when it was obvious to anyone who they were. Despite the fact Harry had been hit with her Stinging Jinx in a last ditch effort to conceal his identity, Malfoy had known them for six years—he knew Harry's face. He had recognized hers too and she had dreamed about the haunted look in his eyes when he had realized exactly _who_ the snatchers had brought into his home that day. She had never told anyone however, not even at the trial, of how Malfoy had vomited the entire time his aunt had tortured her and how his voice had cracked as he screamed at her to stop. She remembered hearing, but not seeing, the sharp sound of skin meeting skin and Bellatrix's furious whispers about blood and being a Malfoy. She remembered being unsure if his quiet whimpers were just mindless sounds or if he was softly chanting, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry". It was these memories that Hermione had held on to when the war had ended, when life had tried to pick itself back up and start over.

The soft footsteps of his return dragged her out of her memories, for which she was grateful. She rarely recalled those memories willingly these days but every once in a while they seemed to surprise her with their presence and their intensity. She preferred to just forget but it wasn't easy in moments like this when her mind simply refused to let her. Malfoy walked in and she sighed with relief, she wasn't sure if it was at the fact that he was now wearing a pair of soft grey boxers or that he held the teal coloured potion in his hand. He grinned at her and her stomach swooped, threatening to spill its contents on the bed. She reached for it, forgetting modesty as the sheet slipped in favour of the relief that she knew would come. He handed it over, uncorked, and she downed it without a word. If nothing else, this alone proved that she now trusted Draco Malfoy to not kill her. He sat down on the bed beside her as she felt the effects of the potion beginning to work. It hit her stomach and instantly calmed it, which was her biggest concern for the time being. She slumped in relief and was about to thank him when he opened his mouth and cut her off.

"You look like shit, Granger," he drawled, the soft and gentle tone he had used before gone. She glared at him.

"Granger, is it?" she snapped. "What the fuck was with the whole, 'is that any way to greet your husband'," she tried to imitate his aristocratic voice and failed miserably, "bullshit earlier, Malfoy?"

He merely grinned and shrugged, almost sheepishly, and she found herself caught off guard by him. Usually, they fought and argued continuously. He called her a stuck up know it all and she called him an arrogant moron. If there was one thing that hadn't changed about Draco Malfoy, it was how he seemed to constantly be able to get under her skin. The only difference was that he no longer called her a Mudblood to do it.

"I wanted to see you squirm," he confessed. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"You utter shit," she mumbled. Realizing that the sheet had slipped low enough to show the soft swells of her breast, she grabbed at it quickly and brought it back up to her neck as a deep crimson stained her face.

"Hermione," Malfoy murmured, a small smile on his face as he reached out to cup hers. "Why are you hiding?"

She stared at him, aghast, as his thumb stroked her cheek. She had no idea who this Malfoy was and why he was acting like this with her. She didn't even _remember_ coming home with him, though the evidence around her suggested that had happened whether she remembered or not. Before she could answer his question, or make any comment as to their situation at all, he leaned forward and gently sealed his mouth over hers. She gasped softly and something hot unfurled in her stomach as his other hand found her waist and pulled her closer to him. His lips was soft but persistent on hers, pulling her bottom one into his mouth and nipping it gently with his teeth. She was surprised by the sweet minty flavour of his breath as it fanned across her face and her brain briefly registered that he must have used a cleansing charm when he went to get her the potion. He let out a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and the hot murmur of something unspeakable flared in her stomach. Before she knew what she was doing, her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer to her body.

She had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him. He was undeniably handsome, from the moment he started to grow into his aristocratic features she had found him physically attractive—if not personably—but that had begun to change when they started working together. Sure, he drove her nuts sometimes but she actually _enjoyed_ the verbal sparring that they often got into, it was exciting in a way that she had never experienced before. She was always waiting to see who would prove the other wrong, and victory over Malfoy's wit was sweeter than any other. She had been surprised to realize, several months after they started working together that not only did she enjoy working with him but she simply enjoyed his presence. It was almost a shock to realize that they spent just as much time laughing together as they did bickering. From that moment on, she had harboured a secret little crush but she had never thought that anything—

He pushed her backwards and, taking advantage of her small sound of surprise, plunged his tongue into her mouth. She moaned without thinking and met him stroke for stroke, her legs parting as he kneeled between them and pressed himself against her body. She could feel every inch of him, his chest against her breasts, his stomach brushing hers and the hard feel of his hips against her thighs. She ran a hand down his back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under her fingertips until she reached his soft boxers. She slipped a hand past them, not thinking about her actions, and grabbed a handful of the round arse that she had briefly glimpsed before. Instantly, he groaned and snapped his hips forward. The single thrust had aligned their bodies perfectly and a burst of hot desire shot through her as his erection pressed against her in just the right way. Her body responded instinctively and her hips arched to meet his. She wanted more, she wanted—

Her eyes snapped open and she froze. His own eyelids fluttered open as he realized that she was no longer responding to him and she was met by confused grey eyes. Confused, but strained with desire. She could see it in his face, he wanted her. She could take this farther, if she wanted to. She could...but she already had, hadn't she? She pushed him back and scrambled away, taking the sheet with her to the edge of the bed.

"Hermione?" he murmured, reaching out for her. She pulled farther away and got up from the bed, yanking on the sheet.

"No, this is wrong," she said, her hand coming up to her face. She realized that it was shaking, that her entire body was shaking.

His eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up. "What is so _wrong_ about it?" he demanded.

"This!" she gestured between the two of them. "Us! This...this!" She could feel herself starting to panic as he watched her with hard eyes. "You have to go. Now."

"I see," he said, standing up so that he was facing her from the other side of the bed. She tried not to notice the fluidity of his movement, the beauty of his body or the clearly defined erection straining at his pants. Her eyes remained glued to his face and so she was able to witness as it morphed from the unfamiliar softness to the usual indifferent face of the Malfoy she knew. "I'll leave you, then," his voice was flat.

He said nothing more as he reached for her nightstand and picked up his wand. With a quick wave he Summoned his clothes, most of which came flying in through her open bedroom door, before he Apparated straight out of her flat. It was all over within seconds.

Hermione reached out a shaky hand and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. She stared at the rumpled sheets and the indent in the pillow where he had slept, wondering how she had gotten into this situation. She remembered getting ready for the Social, picking out new dress robes with her friend Hannah earlier in the week and sitting down to the long process of taming her wild curls. She remembered Harry picking her up from her flat, proclaiming her gorgeous and setting off for the Ministry. She remembered seeing Ron with Lavender and how she had instantly turned for the bar. She barely remembered seeing Malfoy, alone for once, and even less of when they had briefly talked. After that it was merely a blur of dancing with Harry until, what she had previously thought, he had taken her home. Clearly, that hadn't happened but there was no way Harry would have let her leave with _Malfoy_ , would he?

She determined that she had to find out. She put on some pyjamas and marched out of her room and into her den where the fireplace was. With a quick _Incendio_ there was a fire blazing merrily in the grate. She threw in a handful of Floo powder in and called out "Potter Residence, Godic's Hollow". The flame turned wild as it morphed into the emerald green that she was used to. A few images flashed by in the fire before it settled on the cozy living room of the cottage that Harry and Ginny owned in the small village where he had been born. She could see the couch across from her as she leaned her head into the fire and called out his name.

"Hermione?" she heard him call out as his footsteps got louder.

"Harry, I'm in the fireplace!" she called again, listening as he walked into the room.

"Hullo, 'Mione," he said, sitting down cross legged on the floor in front of the hearth. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, "I was just, uhm...how did I get home last night Harry?"

She blushed, but she wasn't sure if Harry would be able to see it given the green glow that Floo flame often gave a person. He grinned wickedly at her and her stomach plummeted.

"You had quite a bit last night, didn't you?"

"I didn't make a fool of myself, did I?" she groaned. She rarely drank more than a glass or two of wine and so her tolerance was rather low.

"Nah," Harry waved a dismissive hand. "If anything, I'd say you need to get plastered more often. You had a good time, danced with practically everyone there, even the girls."

"I did?"

He laughed. "Watching you and Luna waltz was probably the funniest moment of the night!"

"Oh god," she moaned, dropping her head into her hands. "I'm going to be the laughing stock on Monday."

"Oh, it's okay," Harry said. "Everyone was having a good time, even Malfoy."

Hermione's head shot up at that, "Malfoy?"

"Yeah, you danced with him too, don't you remember?"

"Not really, to be honest," she said. _Not at all_ , she thought glumly to herself.

"Oh, well you did. Quite a bit actually, now that I think of it," he frowned. "It was shortly after that you came to me and told me that you were going to leave with Hannah because you weren't feeling too well. Did you get sick?"

"No," Hermione said, confused. _Why would I tell him I was leaving with Hannah and end up with Malfoy in the morning?_ "I took a potion, it helped a lot," it wasn't a lie, and it had. The pounding in her head was now the direct result of sheer frustration and confusion, not the work of alcohol.

"Oh, that's good," Harry smiled. "So does this mean that you'll agree to go to the next Ministry function with less whinging?"

She sighed. "No, in fact, I think there will be _more_ whinging." Truth be told, Hermione had no intentions of _ever_ going to another Ministry function ever again, even if it meant losing her job.

"Listen Harry, I haven't showered yet and I feel disgusting so is it okay if I pop by later?" she asked, changing the subject quickly before Harry could tease her some more.

"Yeah, that's fine. Ginny should be back around four, so how about dinner at six?"

"Sounds good, I'll see you then," she smiled, hopefully in her usual manner, as she pulled her head out of the fire and disconnected the call. She sat back on her heels, staring at the now orange flame. What in the hell happened last night? If she tried hard enough she could remember flashes of the evening but it wasn't the part that she wanted to remember. Her mind kept taking her back to the feeling of skin on skin, and a mouth on her breast; or the sound of a male voice, whispering something in her ear. She shivered with the memory and pushed it to the back of her mind. Standing up, she was determined to forget the whole incident had ever happened. She had just walked out of the den and into the hallway when she noticed something that didn't belong, wedged between the door of her kitchen and the doorframe. As she approached, she realized that it was a man's black tie. It had gotten stuck because of the knot still tied in one end of it, probably when Malfoy had Summoned his clothes. Gently, she freed it from the door and stood up. Without knowing why, she brought it to her nose and inhaled gently. It smelled like lemons and whiskey.

**XXX**

By Monday morning, Hermione had firmly pushed all thought of Friday night and Saturday morning out of her mind. She was determined to act as if nothing had happened, which meant that she would be professional and polite to Malfoy...until he inevitably pissed her off. She Floo'd into the Ministry from her flat and stepped out of the gigantic fireplace to brush the ash from her dark grey robes. Each department had a colour that determined who they worked for; Unspeakables were a dark grey, Aurors were a bright burgundy, Magical Maintenance was a royal blue, et cetera. She walked through the lobby, nodding her head at a few and smiling gently at others, as she made her way to the lifts. They were always crammed in the morning and this Monday was no exception. She squeezed in next to a familiar face in burgundy robes, Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Hey 'Mione!" he said, smiling widely at her as they both reached up to grab on to a hand hold. "How was your weekend?"

"Oh, it was fine," she smiled at him. "How was yours?"

"Good!" he said brightly. "I saw you at the Social on Friday, you looked like you were having a good time," he grinned devilishly at her and she paled.

"Oh, well," she stammered. "I mean...I...it was fine."

He chuckled. "You danced with everyone except me, 'Mione, I think I'm offended."

"I...oh," she blushed. "I'm sorry Justin, I had had a bit to drink and I don't usually drink so I wasn't really acting like myself and—"

Justin cut her off with a laugh as the cool voice announced the floor for Magical Law Enforcement. "It's okay, Hermione, I'm only teasing you. I'll see you later, yeah?" He got off without waiting for an answer and headed down the hall. Several more wizards in the same coloured robes got onto the lift and she was forced to shuffle backwards. The lifts were just about to close when a voice cried out for them to be held and Ron Wealey's head came into view. She nearly groaned aloud. The only other person she would less like to see would have to be Malfoy himself. She shifted back some more until she was pressed uncomfortably against another person behind her.

"Sorry," she murmured as she nearly stepped on a foot.

"It's fine," came the clipped response from behind her.

She whipped around so fast that she elbowed him in the ribs. He grunted and then stared at her coldly. "Malfoy," she murmured, shock written all over her face, she was sure.

"Granger," he replied, his voice like ice. She was no longer used to him using that tone with her; he was so different from Saturday morning, before she had rudely demanded that he leave. In fact, he was different even from before Saturday morning. It was like he had reverted back to their Hogwarts days instead of the competitive, yet friendly, working relationship that they had established.

"'Mione!" Ron's voice called before she was forced to say anything. She turned around and tried to ignore his presence but it was hard to do considering that she could feel his chest pressed against her back and his hips against her bum.

"Ron! Hi," she said, awkwardly. Things were still a tad tense between the two of them and she knew that her avoidance of him on Friday night had probably been noted.

"Listen, I'm glad I caught you," he lowered his voice. "I know that this isn't the best place to have this conversation but I have to get out to Kent and I probably won't be back for the rest of the day so it has to be now."

"O-kay?" Hermione said, feeling extremely confused. _Is he going to call me out on not talking to him Friday?_ she wondered. Unfortunately, her mind was only half on Ron, the other half was detailing every move that Malfoy made because she could feel it against her body.

"I know that this is going to sound weird, but you know Mom's dinner tonight?" He asked, eyeing her strangely. She didn't know, actually, it had completely slipped her mind until he mentioned it but she simply nodded when he paused for her affirmation. "Well, I was hoping that you could owl her and cancel."

"What? Why?"

Ron sighed and glanced at her nervously. His next words confirmed why. "Because Lavender is uncomfortable with you being there and Mom invited her too and I'd really rather not have to—"

"Merlin, Weasley, I had always suspected that you had no class but this is low, even for you," a voice sneered at Ron from behind her. She turned partially to look at Malfoy, surprised to find that he was absolutely furious.

"This is none of your business, Malfoy!" Ron whisper-yelled, trying not to attract the attention of everyone on the lift. It was too late for that though, Hermione could see that most of them were either openly watching the conversation or determinedly staring elsewhere. She felt a hot rush of shame and embarrassment climb up her neck and into her cheeks.

"Ron," she held up a hand to stop the tirade that was sure to come from him. "It's fine, I'll call Molly and cancel. It's fine."

He let out a breath and smiled winningly at her. "Thanks 'Mione, I knew you'd understand."

Malfoy snorted behind her at the exact moment that she felt a hand brush her waist but because the lift stopped and announced their floor, causing everyone to start shuffling, she couldn't be sure if it had been his hand or not. Without looking at Ron, they both made their way through the crowded contraption and finally out into the lobby. Hermione breathed deeply and fought to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. She could feel them prickling unpleasantly and she knew that it was only a matter of time. She turned to Malfoy and caught him staring at her, his face a curious mixture of pain and anger. Startled, she stared back at him, wondering exactly what was going on in his head when he opened her mouth and told her.

"When did you turn into a spineless coward, Granger?" he spat out. "You let Weasley walk all over you in there and everyone heard it. I wouldn't be surprised if the entire Ministry knows that Hermione Granger has been pushed aside for the Weasel's latest trollop by noon."

The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally made their presence known in the hot wetness on her cheeks. "And here I thought you'd finally stopped being a _bastard_ ," she whispered before turning away from him and walking as quickly down the hall as she could.

He was right, and she knew it, but it hurt to hear it put forth so harshly. He was being deliberately cruel and she knew it, she just didn't understand. Oh, she knew that he was pissed off at the way she reacted to waking up next to him but what had he really expected? For her to rejoice? To climb atop him and demand another go? She pushed her way into her small office and slammed the door behind her, locking it with a wandless charm. She slid down to the floor and put her head in her hands. She didn't understand why Malfoy hadn't jumped up out of her bed Saturday morning and Apparated away as soon as he had realized just _who_ he had been with that night. She knew that he no longer spouted the Muggle-born nonsense, in fact he had made a public statement after the war declaring that he had never really believed it to begin with, but that didn't mean that he had suddenly started dating Muggle-born witches left, right and center. When he _was_ seen in public with a woman, which was often, it was always with a woman of high birth and even higher wealth. She didn't understand why he had acted the way he did, kissing her again and pinning her to the bed with his body. It wasn't like he could have used alcohol as an excuse that time.

She groaned and lifted herself up from the floor just in time to hear a sharp rapping on her door.

"Granger? Granger are you in there?" came the voice of her boss, Marley Otten.

Quickly, she rubbed her face on the sleeves of her grey robes and pulled the door open. He was standing there with a pile of parchment in his arms and several inter-office memos dancing around his head, waiting to be read. He spared her a glance as he shuffled through the parchment in his arms. "You look like shit."

She rolled her eyes. Was everyone going to keep telling her that? "Thanks," she responded sarcastically, pleased to note that her voice came out normally.

"Hmm, just the truth," he murmured, pulling out several pages and handing them over to her. "I need you to go see Malfoy, you'll be working on this with him."

" _What_?"

Otten looks up at her, startled. She didn't usually protest having to work with Malfoy, at least not with such emotion. "Yes, Granger, you are going to need his help on this one."

"Why?" she demanded, looking at the pages. "I'm sure I can do it myself."

"No, I assure you, you can't," he told her firmly. "Besides, I'm ordering you to work with him on it, I don't want you to waste your time trying to do this and only find out that you can't."

She sighed pitifully. "Can't I work with someone else in Potions?"

"No, Malfoy is the best and you know it. Go find him," and with that, her boss walked away from her.

She sighed heavily and closed the door. Making her way to her desk, she sat down and began reviewing the files. She knew with just a quick glance that Otten had been right, she would not be able to do this without Malfoy but she would be damned if she was going to run to him right away. She picked up a Muggle hair tie and pulled her curls back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck so that she could work easily. When she went to Malfoy she wanted it to be with some pre-established knowledge of the case before hand. It would be a cold day in hell when she would let him think he was smarter than her.

**XXX**

Steeling herself, Hermione knocked calmly on the wooden door that read "Draco Malfoy—Potions & Research". It had taken her a solid five minutes to work herself up to getting here but now that she was standing before his door, she was determined to put a professional, and brave, face on it. The door whipped open just as she was about to knock again and she was confronted with an angry Malfoy.

"Took you long enough," he spat, stepping back and letting her into his office.

She was familiar with the room. It was decorated sparsely, much like her own, but it was far more masculine than hers. Warm, earthy colours greeted her as she walked calmly over to his leather couch and sat down, placing the paper work on the table before her. Without looking up at him, she began organizing the papers so that he could read them if he sat down.

"From what I can tell, Ava Menlins has gotten herself into a right mess," Hermione began, still not looking at him. "I think that she was trying to use an engorgement charm when either the spell backfired for some reason or the potion reacted badly with the spell. It looks like she was trying to brew some sort of fertility potion but there are ingredients in here that don't make sense."

He still hadn't moved from his place near the door and she finally forced herself to look up. He was staring at her strangely, his face blank but his body tense as a tightly coiled bow. "I wasn't aware that you could read from all the way over there, Malfoy, that's quite the feat," she murmured quietly, arching an eyebrow. She had learned that from him.

His mouth tightened and he seemed to war with himself for a moment before he walked over and sat down on the couch, as far away from her as he possibly could. He reached out and snagged a few of the papers, looking over them quietly.

"We should talk about this," she began, hesitantly. She didn't really want to have the morning after—well, the few days after—talk with him. She'd never had one before, though she was sure he had, and she had no desire to learn on her feet when it came to this.

"I'll have to try to re-create this potion," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Malfoy, please don't ignore thi—" she stopped abruptly as his words registered and she turned to him sharply. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because we need to figure out what it _does_ , Granger," Malfoy said, as if he were talking to a child.

"There are easier and _safer_ ways of doing that," she told him firmly. "We don't know if it was the spell that caused the explosion, Malfoy! It could have been the potion itself! If she made a volatile po—"

"I am quite aware of the risks, Granger," Malfoy said quietly, his voice almost the soft tone from Saturday morning, but not quite. She found herself almost wishing that he would speak to her like that again. "I will analyze the ingredients before I start but we both know that there's a good chance that there will be a lot of guesswork in this."

"And therein lays the problem!" Hermione said, throwing her hands up and leaning forward to jab him in the arm with her finger. "You could get hurt! There is no need to re-create this potion! We'll find—"

"I know that you're practically in love with the library here, Granger," Malfoy said smoothly, "but that doesn't mean that research is going to solve this one. The woman needs an antidote and until I brew the potion that she created, I won't be able to get that to her. Would you like to see her in a coma for the rest of her natural life?"

"No, of course not," she gritted out. "But I don't want to see you hurting yourself in the process!"

"Be still my heart," he mocked her in a hard tone, placing a hand against his chest. "I didn't know you cared, Granger."

Something in his voice stopped the retort on her lips. She had been half a breath away from telling him that what she cared about was the victim of this incident and that if he wound up in a coma too they were both bound to die because the other potions researcher, Timmins, was an idiot in her opinion. The words died in her throat at the _bitter_ way he said, "I didn't know you cared". It struck her oddly and before she could think too much about it, placed her hand on his knee.

"I do care, Malfoy," she hesitated. "I don't...I don't know what happened between us but I do—"

"Save it, Granger," he snapped, is voice cold as he brushed her hand away and stood up. "I don't need your pity."

"My pity?" she echoed. "This has nothing to do with pity!"

He turned around, his face ugly with anger and his eyes burning. "It has everything to do with pity, Granger! You change your mind after a sobering potion and then you have the balls to tell me that you _care_?" He let out a short, mirthless laugh. "I should have known better, considering you were drunk beyond belief, but that was my mistake. One that I will _never_ make again!"

"I have no idea what you're—"

"Just leave the paper work," he said, turning around and facing the magic window that displayed a sunny summer day. "I'll owl you when I figure out the potion aspect."

"Draco," she stood up, reaching out to touch his arm. "Please, tell me what happened that ni—"

He wrenched his arm out of her grip and turned to walk to the door briskly. Without saying a word to her, he opened it so hard that it slammed off the opposite wall as he walked out. Hermione stood there, staring at the half open door and wondering why the ache in her chest hurt so damn much.

**XXX**

They danced around each other for weeks, always avoiding the giant elephant in the room.

Their arguing had changed, morphing back to the nasty sniping and below the waist jabs that reminded her of their days at Hogwarts. In the moments before her temper blossomed out of control and she snapped back at him she had a moment of fear and hesitation. It was in this moment that she dreaded starting another argument with him because she knew that if he whipped out the derogatory slurs towards her blood, she would never be able to salvage what little of a friendship they had had.

Each day she would stop by his lab, right next to his office, to review his notes on the potions he had created and tested. Each day, she watched as he would ward a small area in his lab with enough spells that would probably keep out Merlin himself and then proceeded to fire spells at the potion within the wards. Hermione had narrowed it down to either an engorgement charm, a multiplying spell or a growth spell. They were all horribly similar but they could have extremely different reactions with the potion depending on the purpose of the caster. They needed to know what Ava Menlins' intent had been when she cast the spell but her state of unconsciousness hindered that, to say the least.

In the beginning of their testing, Hermione had demanded that she be the one to cast the spells at the potions since that was _her_ area of expertise. She had never seen Malfoy so livid.

"Out of the question," he had spat when she brought it up.

"Why the hell not!" she demanded.

"Because it's dangerous, Granger," he shot at her. "Use that great bushy head of yours for once!"

She ignored the dig at her hair, which she knew was no longer bushy. He was trying to distract her from the argument at hand and she would have none of that. "And having _you_ cast them is somehow less dangerous?"

"I am prepared to—"

"Oh for fucks sake, Malfoy!" she yelled. "Just because you're a man doesn't mean that you're _better_ than I am!"

"I didn't say—"

"But that's what you meant!" she could feel her fury rising. "I'm better with a wand and you know it! I'm the logical choice for this part, so why—"

"Stop flattering yourself, Granger!" he yelled back, taking a step toward her. Both of them had their wands in hand.

"It's not self-flattery," her wand whipped up, quick as a snake, and fired off a Stinging Hex. It hit him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble slightly but his wand was already coming up and deflecting the next one.

"How _dare_ you attack me?" he growled, firing off a jinx. She waved her wand almost lazily, deflecting it with ease.

"How _dare_ you question my competence in my own division?" she snarled, sending another spell his way. He was prepared this time and deflected it.

"I'm not questioning your competence," he yelled, frustrated as he had to fend off several quick hexes and jinxes from her. " _Dammit, Granger!_ "

"I told you!" she continued to fire rapid but harmless spells at him. To the outside observer their duel would have almost seemed like an angry dance, they moved smoothly and seamlessly from attack to defence, attack to defence. They were quick and deadly, the pair of them, but it was clear that Hermione had the advantage. "You just can't stand that I'm better than you, can you?" she yelled, her spell glowed a bright blue, stronger because of her anger. Malfoy had plenty of time to block it, but he didn't, letting his wand hand fall to his side as the spell hit him dead in the chest with so much force that it slammed him into the wall opposite.

Hermione gasped, horrified that she had hurt him out of her anger. It was a gentle spell, only meant to push a person or item out of the way but her emotions had fuelled her magic, making it stronger than she had intended. She had only begun to rush forward when Malfoy pushed himself off of the wall and stormed towards her, throwing his wand on the table as he passed it. Her confused eyes went from his furious face to the wand he had carelessly discarded and back to his face. Reaching for her, he grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her hard enough to make her teeth snap together.

" _Why can't you just accept that I don't want to see you get hurt_?" he roared at her. " _Why can't you let me take the damn risk and stop being such a stupid Gryffindor for once in your damn life_?"

He was screaming at her and his fingers were digging painfully into her flesh but he didn't seem to notice, he was so angry with her.

"I can accept the ris—" she tried.

"Not if you want to work with me you won't!" he was still yelling. "You don't _need_ to be working this case anymore, Granger! I could petition Otten to have you removed, don't make me force you out!"

She stopped and stared at him, her mouth slightly open. He was panting, his breath brushing her face and pushing at the few strands of hair that had escaped her bun.

"You would do that?" she asked him softly. Her voice was so quiet in the aftermath of their screaming that it was barely there at all. "You would remove me from this just because of...of...I don't even _know_!"

"No," he said, his voice rough from abuse. "I would remove you because you're insisting on putting yourself in danger."

"Sometimes, that's part of our _jobs_ , Malfoy!"

"Not this time! I refuse!"

" _WHY?"_ she shouted, her hands coming up to his shirt and grabbing hold. She shook him in much the same way he had shaken her, almost as if she were trying to force an answer from him.

He eyed her warily, his usually cool grey eyes were a tumultuous mess of blue and silver. She had noticed early on that his eyes changed to this shade when he was upset. He released her slowly, peeling his fingers off of her skin as if it was difficult for him. She winced slightly, she would have bruises later.

"I don't know," he said quietly, turning away. "But I refuse to let you do this Granger. You can help me, but not this way."

She continued to stare at his back, her eyes cataloguing the defeated slouch to his shoulders and the tired way in which he dragged his hand through his hair. She sighed, giving in.

"Fine," she closed her eyes. "What am I doing, then?"

From that day onward their arguing stopped, mostly because they stopped speaking all together. The only time they talked to each other was when they absolutely had to, or when one of them had a question for the other regarding their research. They continued to work together—he would brew the potions and cast the spells while she protected him from any possible backlash through an advanced _Protego_ charm—but they never broached any topic that even came close to personal. The giant elephant in the room remained.

**XXX**

It was nearly six weeks later when they finally figured out exactly what Ms. Ava Menlins had done. It had taken them dozens of variations of the same potion with ingredients added in different orders before they hit the right combination. Hermione had been right, she _had_ been trying to brew a fertility potion but those were tricky for the best of Potions Masters and Ms. Menlins had used poor substitute ingredients because the ones that her recipe called for were far too expensive. The spell she had used was indeed a growth charm but they hadn't found out _why_ she had used it until after Malfoy's antidote had been brewed and administered to her. Hermione had sat in, along with Malfoy, as a couple of Aurors questioned Menlins in the hospital. When they had gotten to why she had used a growth charm on her already volatile potion she had confessed that it had simply "sounded like a good idea at the time", she had wanted the potion to promote the growth of a baby. Hermione had barely been able to stop herself from smacking herself in the face with her hand as the woman tried to rationalize her actions. It had been mildly satisfying to hear Malfoy, in a condescending tone too, tell Ava that had she taken the potion that she had concocted she would have simply poisoned herself.

That had been almost a week ago and she hadn't spoken to Malfoy since he had bid her a good day outside of St. Mungo's. Not a word had passed his lips towards her since then, not even a greeting. He merely nodded to her when they passed in the halls or rode the lift together. She didn't understand him, at all. Had she really hurt his pride _that_ much with her behaviour on that Saturday morning so many weeks ago? It had come to a point where she was obsessed with figuring out why he had acted the way he had and why he was ignoring her now.

" _You change your mind after a sobering potion and then you have the balls to tell me that you_ care?"

" _Why can't you just accept that I don't want to see you get hurt_?"

She rubbed her eyes and groaned. None of his reactions to her made sense. He had never, _ever_ , given her any indication that he gave a damn whether or not she cared about him. Even when they had began working together, their tentative friendship had always been restricted to the workplace. Granted, she had never extended any offers to him but then neither had he. When they did see each other outside of it, it was merely polite pleasantries that they exchanged, the weather, the latest Quidditch game, et cetera. So how had they ended up in _bed_ together? The way he had said, " _I should have known better, considering you were drunk beyond belief_ " made it sound as if _he_ had been sober, but that made no sense at all! Why would Malfoy willingly sleep with her without the coercion of alcohol? She had thought that his pride would have had him mocking her about it, boasting to others about bedding her, or calling her a prude for kicking him out so quickly but none of that had happened. He had acted _offended_ , genuinely and truly.

She stood, abandoning the work in front of her, determined to get an answer out of him. She had had enough of his whiplash attitude and it was far beyond time when they should have talked about what happened like the adults there were _supposed_ to be. She marched down the hall, past the elderly secretary Matilda and towards Malfoy's office. She heard the small, plump woman call something out to her but she ignored it, she was determined to get to the bottom of this.

Without knocking, she barged into his office. "Alright Malfoy! I want to know just wha—"

She stopped abruptly, staring in shock at the sight before her. In the middle of the office stood Malfoy, with his hands lightly resting on Pansy Parkinson's waist as she stood on tip toe, her lips against his in a sweet kiss. They both pulled back from each other as soon as she walked in but the damage had been done, she had already seen them. Flushing lightly, Pansy stepped back from Malfoy but her grin remained as she glanced at Hermione. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked horrified.

"Hermione—" he began but she held up a hand. Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest and her stomach was knotted so tight that she thought she might vomit. Her mind flashed back to random issues of the _Prophet_ and all the beautiful women that would grace his arm. It was never the same woman more than once but they all had one thing in common—they were all the heiresses to some wealthy pure blooded wizard from somewhere in Europe. It would make sense, for sure. There was no way that Draco Malfoy would ever want to be with a Muggle-born, other than to shag her of course. She realized with a start that somewhere deep down where she refused to acknowledge it, part of her had hoped that his curious reactions to her had meant that he cared. She wanted to smack herself, hard.

"No, don't bother," she smiled sweetly—at least she tried to. "It wasn't important. Sorry to interrupt."

She turned around and had barely made it out of his office when she heard Pansy's sneering voice ask, "What the hell is her problem?"

She didn't wait to hear Malfoy's answer. Picking it up a notch, she fled down the hall to her office at a brisk pace. She didn't pause as she marched in, grabbed her cloak from the peg on the wall, her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, and marched right back out. She had no intention of staying in the office any longer; she could work from home for the rest of the day...or the rest of the week. Perhaps a year would be sufficient time for her to gather her thoughts and deal with her newfound emotions. She headed straight for the lift, her mind preoccupied as she got on and pressed the button for the Atrium. Sure, she had had a little crush on Malfoy but it wasn't _much_ of one. _Or was it?_ She thought to herself, holding on to the railing as the box lurched forward. _No, I can beat this_ , she thought.

So what if she usually looked forward to working with him? It was only because he could keep up with her in a way that Harry and Ron never could, because they could have a verbal sparring match and enjoy it. They would call each other nasty names sometimes, but it was never with any malice. He enjoyed telling her that just because her hair was larger than life didn't mean that her brain was. She enjoyed calling him a pointy git and making references to his bouncing ferret days. So what if they rarely got _truly_ angry with each other? Other than their recent discord, she couldn't recall a time since Hogwarts where she had been truly furious with him. So what if he was always a gentleman and charming? So what if he made her laugh? So what if he had apologized to her for every time he had ever called her that horrible word? So what if her stomach jumped, her palms sweat and her heart raced every time he entered a room? It was nothing more than physical attraction.

So what if she had a tiny crush? She would get over it.

Clearly, she would have to.

She shook her head, getting out of the lift and heading for the Floo grates. Mere minutes later, she stepped out of the fireplace in her cozy little den, more determined than ever. She had to find out what had happened between the two of them, she _had_ to. She would prove to herself that it had merely been a one off, a physical release.

She dropped her bag next to the chair nearest the fireplace and headed straight for the desk in the room. She had a pensive there and she intended to get some answers out of it. Unfortunately for most people, viewing the memories of a drunk witch or wizard usually yielded little results because their conscious minds were not active enough to notice or hold on to the details of the world around them. Hermione had changed that with a handy little spell that she had come up with the previous year. Currently, only Aurors and other MLE were really aware of it as they were the ones who had had need of it in the first place. Luckily for them, Hermione was an extremely talented witch when it came to spells.

Pulling out her pensieve from the desk drawer, she let it hover just above the wood surface as she placed the tip of her wand to her temple. With her eyes closed, she felt the subtle _shift_ of memories in her mind as the magic pulled on the one she sought. She opened her eyes as she flicked the glowing strand at the pensieve, watching it fall into the liquid. Instantly, it swirled around, glowing and melding with the transparent liquid until she could see the shadows of shapes and people moving about. With a slight twinge of nervousness, she dipped her finger into the surprisingly cold substance. Instantly, she felt herself being pulled forward by the magic of the object, falling, quite literally, into her memory. As she went she quietly cast the spell that would, if all went according to plan, solidify the drunken haze of her memories.

When her feet touched solid ground, she found herself in the dimly lit Atrium as it was on the evening of the Social. It was beautifully decorated; the team that had been hired had outdone themselves for this event. Shimmering fairy lights danced through the air as if they were each being guided by their own individual breeze. The effect was much like fire flies dancing in a night sky. The fountain, which had been restored after the war, had dozens of fairy lights in the water itself, pouring out of the wand tips of the witch and wizard and floating lazily through the basin. The walls were decorated with lightly coloured sheets of fabric that were draped elegantly to hide the windows of offices and meeting rooms. Dotting the floor were several waist high tables with small candles floating above them, giving just enough light for the guests to see each other by. The glow that they gave off was the same bluish-white that emanated from the fairy lights and the effect was rather ethereal. The only properly lit area was where the band was positioned beneath large floating candles that illuminated the sheets of music.

Hermione scanned the already packed floor, looking for a glimpse of herself in her navy blue dress robes. She didn't have to look long before she caught sight of herself wrapped securely in the embrace of Draco Malfoy on the dance floor. She walked over, her feet feeling like lead and paying no attention to the ghost like people that she was moving through. Her eyes were glued on the dancing couple that she had no memory of. Malfoy looked stunning in his black dress robes as he smiled warmly at her and moved about the dance floor. They looked perfect together, both of them radiating a contented happiness that was evident in small laughs and private smiles.

She watched, transfixed, as Malfoy swept the other Hermione around the dance floor and laughed at something that she said as she nearly stumbled. Hermione had never been a particularly good dancer and to add alcohol to that would have been rather entertaining. She inched closer, eager to hear what they were saying.

"Stop laughing at me, Malfoy," her memory self demanded of him, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

"I will," he assured her, his voice deep and smooth with mirth, "when you stop calling me Malfoy and start using my name."

"That _is_ your name," she sassed him with a smile. "But okay, if you insist...Draco."

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I don't know," she said dubiously, casting her eyes upward, "but the sky hasn't started to fall yet so I think we're safe."

"Why would the sky fall?" he chuckled.

She shrugged, "it's a Muggle phrase. It comes from a children's book where this little chicken...her name is Chicken Little, actually...well, she's constantly running around telling people that the sky is falling."

"And is it falling?" Draco asked.

"Nope," she said, smiling as he managed to spin her around without causing her to trip. "She's paranoid, you see. The story is all about not being irrational or overly afraid."

"Sounds like your kind of story," Draco remarked. She stared at him for a heartbeat before she burst into laughter.

"Yes, yes I suppose it is," she chuckled. "But in my defence, my mother would be Chicken Little."

"Would she?" Draco pulled her closer as the song morphed into something slower.

Memory Hermione nodded as she let herself be guided closer to his chest. She rested her head against his shoulder, letting her nose touching his neck. "She was always terrified I'd do something to get myself killed," she murmured softly. She didn't seem to notice how Draco's body stiffened and continued. "I was always falling out of trees when I was little and back then I didn't have magic to heal broken bones. When I left for Hogwarts I'm pretty sure she aged ten years from sheer stress."

Hermione smiled as she watched herself recount the memory of her mother. It was true, her mother had been quite a worry wart when she had been little. It was only when she entered the world of magic, however, that her mother's fears became a reality.

"I imagine the war was terribly hard on her," Draco said softly. Hermione's drunken self looked up at him then, swaying slightly but secured by his arms.

"It wasn't, actually," she said, looking away. "I did something...I...they were quite mad at me later."

"Hermione, you're not making any sense," Draco said, frowning slightly.

"I erased their memories of me," her memory self said, looking away. "It was as if I never existed. I planted the idea of moving away, to Australia, in their minds. I wanted them to be as safe as possible, and as far as possible. If I didn't...if I didn't survive the war then they would never have had to know. They would have been able to start over without the pain."

Hermione watched Draco's face intently as he listened to her slightly drunken confession. She would never have believed it had she not seen it with her own eyes but he looked genuinely pained. His eyes were sad as he watched her memory self's face and, as the story drew to a close, he leaned forward to gently kiss her forehead. It was such a sweet gesture and she felt her heart constrict painfully at the sight of it. Her memory self sighed and slid her hands up around Draco's neck, leaning into him with her eyes closed. He gathered her even closer, to the point where she was pressed against the length of him, and leaned his head against hers. With his own eyes closed, they looked completely peaceful and relaxed in each other's presence. It shocked Hermione to see herself like this with him when they had always been cordial but distant with each other in public. At work, they had _never_ hinted at such intimacy. Watching them, she felt a pang of longing for what _could_ have been and once again, tried to sweep it away. The phantom couple continued to sway back and forth gently for several moments before the other Hermione opened her eyes and looked around them.

"Everyone is staring at us," she whispered to Draco who opened his eyes at her voice.

He, too, looked around and saw that all of the couples nearest to them were watching them with open curiosity. Hermione looked around and saw that, despite the fact that they were the center of attention at that moment, they were surrounded by many couples and no one outside their immediate vicinity had noticed anything amiss. Her eyes searched the floor for Harry but could not see him anywhere, which explained why he did not mention this moment to her when she had fire called him on Saturday.

"Then let's get out of here," he whispered in her ear but Hermione was close enough to hear every word.

Her memory self looked up at him with slightly glazed but clearly coherent eyes and hesitated for a second. Draco smiled at her, a true and rare smile, which seemed to win her over. She nodded and smiled gently at him as he took her by the hand and led her off of the dance floor. Hermione followed them and watched as they stopped once they had cleared the dancing couples. Draco leaned in and whispered softly, "Meet me by the Floo in five minutes."

Hermione was shocked as her memory self giggled girlishly and headed off to find Harry. Following, the two of them wound their way through the crowd until her memory self spotted Harry and made a bee-line for him. She smacked herself in the forehead as she watched memory Hermione lie to Harry and tell him that she was going home with Hannah. She hadn't even bothered to see if Hannah was still around or not! For all she knew, she could have told Harry that lie only for him to see the other witch later on! She shook her head at her own stupidity. If one was going to lie, they may as well lie properly.

With that done, she followed her memory self as she slowly made her way to the Floo gates. Draco was there, waiting for her quietly. When he spotted her, his face lit up with another one of his rare smiles and Hermione found herself absolutely floored by it. With the way he was acting, one would think that he was completely and utterly head over feet for her. Her stomach flopped unpleasantly at the thought. _What if he is? Or...was?_ She thought to herself, watching as the memory couple headed for a single floo. She followed them closely in order to be transported together but it was unnecessary since her memory self spoke the address to her own flat. It was a curious sensation, to be in the Floo in a memory. The green flames whirled and rushed around her but she had none of the unpleasant spinning sensation that came with actual Floo use. She rather preferred this way, if she were being honest.

They stepped out of her fireplace and instantly, Malfoy turned to kiss her. He cupped her memory self's face gently in his palms and pulled her closer with no resistance. In fact, memory Hermione reached up, tangling her hands into his hair and pulling him forward. With a pang, she realized that she had repeated the exact same action the morning after. She watched, transfixed as they tried to walk and kiss at the same time. They began stumbling and Malfoy's body knocked into the doorframe with an audible thud. They pulled away, the pair of them laughing as their hands began to divest each other of their clothes. She watched as his black tie was yanked off and thrown over her shoulder. They began half-stumbling, half-kissing their way down the hall. He shed his outer robes quickly with the help of her hands but they got caught up in kissing again before they reached her bedroom door.

With speed and grace, Draco picked up the other Hermione and pinned her against the wall to kiss her thoroughly. She let out a moan of approval as her legs came around his waist. Hermione watched, breathless and heart beating wild, as they practically tried to devour each other. Draco pulled back to pull open her dress robes and Hermione let her legs fall down so that she could attack his belt. She seemed to have more success when it came to disrobing because within seconds her memory self had his trousers open, had hooked her fingers into the waistline and pulled them down along with his pants. A hot curl of desire ran through her body as she watched herself drop down and take Draco into her mouth. He swore loudly, slamming a hand against the wall, but his eyes never left the sight of her on her knees before him. Hermione watched as her memory self drew her hands slowly up Draco's thighs, teasing him with her nails as she sucked and swallowed around him. When she reached forward to gently roll his sack in her hands, his head tipped back and he let out another curse in a long, low sound.

When it became clear that he wouldn't be able to take much more, he reached down and gently cupped her face with his hand. "Hermione, love, you have to stop."

She pulled back, releasing him with a soft sound, looking up as he gently grabbed her upper arms and helped her to her feet. He struggled with his trousers for a second before toeing out of his shoes and leaving everything there in a heap on the floor. She grinned at him as he walked backwards and pulled her along by her hand towards the open door at the end of the hall. They entered the bedroom together where he turned his attention to undressing her as slowly as humanly possible. He slipped her dress robes off of her shoulders and let them pool at her feet, kissing her bare shoulders and gently moving the straps of her sheer slip out of the way. Hermione watched from the doorway as he practically worshipped her body and wished that she could remember this part of her evening clearly. Her gut twisted and squirmed as she watched him peel back layer after layer of her clothing until he had her standing bare in the middle of her room.

"This is a bit unfair," her memory self proclaimed, her voice soft and husky in a way that Hermione didn't recognize. "You need to lose that shirt."

He grinned at her and deftly unbuttoned it, leaving it gaping open to show the defined stomach that hid under his daily outfit. Her memory self reached forward without hesitation and slipped it off of his shoulders to join the mess of clothing on the floor. Without missing a beat, she lowered her head to his chest and curled her tongue around a nipple, making his fingers dig into the soft skin of her shoulders.

"Bed," he demanded, his voice rough.

Hermione watched herself comply, spreading out on the bed without a hint of the embarrassment that she usually felt when naked in the presence of another. She felt as if she almost didn't know this woman who kissed and touched without fear but she wanted to—she wanted to _be_ this version of herself all the time, not just when she had had too much to drink.

Memory Draco lowered himself to her body, kissing his way from her breasts to her stomach and down to the apex of her thighs. Hermione watched, her body practically vibrating with desire, as he spread her legs wide and kissed her into a frenzy. Her own body throbbed as she watched him bring her memory self closer and closer to the brink of orgasm with his lips and tongue. When she watched the memory of herself arch off of the bed she let out a moan of her own and felt vaguely disturbed by how visceral her reaction to watching herself have sex was. Part of her wondered if perhaps she had seen enough, that maybe she should wait out the rest of the memory in another room, but that thought was quickly dashed out of her head as she watched Draco kneel between her legs and pull her closer, palming his cock as his eyes devoured her.

"I've wanted you for a long time, Hermione," he whispered it so softly that she almost didn't hear it.

Her heart thumped painfully and her stomach knotted as she watched the other Hermione sit up and pull him down to kiss her. They almost seemed to be battling for dominance, their teeth nipping and at lips and their tongues visible as they shifted. Her heart was pounding as her former self pulled away from the kiss and murmured the words that damned her, "Me too, Draco."

Hermione slumped against the doorframe and watched, her heart heavy and her body thrumming, as they came together. There was no point in denying her feelings to herself when she had already proclaimed them to _him_ in the heat of the moment but _how_ could she not remember this? How could she lose an entire night? From practically her first drink her memories went haywire and she couldn't understand. How could she not remember _this_? She felt bereft and detached as she watched the couple move together gracefully, their bodies finding a rhythm that only they knew. She watched as soft feminine hands danced along planes of male skin and a rough, stubble dotted chin tickled sensitive areas of a neck. She heard the sounds of their love-making as if at the end of a long tunnel, vague and distorted. Though she knew that that was _her_ , it was her voice, her body, she had never felt so set apart.

She turned away as their movements became erratic with their impending climax but she could not get away fast enough to escape the sounds that poured forth from her bedroom. She walked quickly down the hall as she heard herself shout, vocalizing the pleasure of the body at the exact same moment that a deeper voice yelled her name. It was that sound, her name tumbling from his lips in the moment of passion that undid her. She sat down hard on the squashy armchair by the fire in her den but she felt no comfort from it as the tears began to spill down her cheeks.

She had pushed him away out of fear and confusion. Instead of asking him just _what_ had happened between them and confessing her ignorance of it, she had panicked and tossed him out on his arse. There was little wonder that he was so angry with her, why he had given her the looks that he had, why he had been so cruel outside of the lifts. She was surprised that he had not done more considering that she knew exactly how capable he was of being mean when he wanted to. She let her head fall into her hands as she recalled Pansy in his office, her lips pressed daintily to his and a gleeful grin on her face. The rational part of her brain was furious with him for moving on that quickly, for being so changeable, but the rational part was not the part that hurt the most and so it was drowned out by self-pity and sorrow. She was so absorbed in her self-deprecation that she almost didn't notice as the world around her began to dim. Standing up quickly, she felt her body tip backwards as she was thrown out of the fading memory and back into the same office that she had just left.

Her feet hit solid ground and the world tipped dangerously around her, sending her falling backwards into her desk chair. She sat with a heavy thump and dropped her head into her hands again as the tears continued to fall.

"For fucks sake," she mumbled to herself, shaking her head.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a throat being cleared and Hermione realized that she was not, in fact, alone. Her head snapped up towards the sound, quickly followed by her body when she realized that Draco was sitting in the same squashy armchair that she had been in during her memory. She stood there, staring at him, frozen and unsure of what to say.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his eyes worried as they roamed over her tear streaked face.

"Oh," she mumbled, wiping her face on her grey work robes. She noted blearily that he, too, was still wearing his work robes. "Yes, I'm...I'm...I don't know."

"What memories were you watching?" he asked, a peculiar look on his face.

"I..." she hesitated, wondering if she wanted to tell him the truth. If she did, he could turn cold again and walk out. If she didn't...well she might not get this opportunity again. "Us," she said softly, lamely, but he clearly knew what she was referring to. His eyebrows rose slightly and his mouth thinned.

"Why were you looking at that?" he asked, his voice soft but his eyes hard.

"Because I don't remember it," she said quickly. "Any of it. I don't know why but it's like... I don't know, almost like a poorly cast memory charm."

He frowned, looking at her with suspicion. "You don't remember...anything?"

She sighed and walked out from behind her desk so that she could lean against the front of it and face him. "Not properly. Snatches of..." she blushed furiously, "moments but nothing concrete. I had to use my pensieve spell in order to view it."

"Did anyone give you a potion on Friday night?" he asked, the frown still on his face but some of the hardness gone from his eyes.

"No...not that I know of anyway."

"Were you ever alone that night? That you remember, anyway?"

"No, Harry said that I..." she paused, blushing again. "He said that I was rather...social."

"Yes, you were dancing with everyone who would let you but you never stuck out the whole dance with them before moving on."

"I don't normally act that way, I don't know what..." she sighed. "I have no idea why I did anything that I did that night. I wasn't myself."

Suddenly, he stood up and closed the short distance between them. She started and leaned back, surprised by his sudden movement and proximity. "You weren't yourself when you made love to me, then?" he whispered, his breath fanning across her face.

She closed her eyes. "No, I wasn't."

"I see," his voice was hard again and she opened her eyes to see him turning away, reaching for the Floo jar.

She reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "I wasn't myself because I don't _do_ things like that! I don't take men home and...and..." he was watching her closely and she felt herself start to panic, afraid that he would leave before she could get it all out. "Well, I just don't because my mother taught me not to be a trollop and that's how you get diseases, or pregnant and, god, I could never deal with a baby. I can barely take care of my damn cat and I just don't have the bloody confidence to ask a man for a quick romp in the hay because I'm sure I'd sound like an idiot and I'd really rather not be laughed..." she trailed off as she realized that she was babbling and he was staring at her with raised eyebrows.

She squeezed his arm and tried again, "I wasn't myself, but that doesn't mean that I...that I didn't want...you. I did...I still do."

His arm, the one that had been reaching for the Floo pot, dropped but his expression of disbelief barely changed. Something flickered in his grey eyes but it was gone before she could even hope to identify it.

"Mal—Draco," his eyes widened slightly as she used his first name, a sure sign that she had really viewed the memories of their night together, "what are you doing here?"

He turned back towards her, away from the fireplace. "I had to find you, to dispel you of the notion you are certainly under. I am not with Pansy, despite what you saw."

She dropped his arm and leaned back against the table again, frowning. "She was kissing you."

He nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "She gets a bit exuberant when she's excited about something."

Hermione said nothing but raised a questioning eyebrow, indicating that he should go on. He smiled slightly, "She's pregnant."

"She's _what_?" Hermione gaped. "I didn't know that she was married?"

His grin turned absolutely wolfish. "She's not. Her father is going to have a fit."

"Uh oh," Hermione said, biting a lip. "Why are you happy about that?"

He continued to grin. "Because he regularly tells my mother that I'm a failure at upholding the dignified pureblooded traditions," he waited for her to laugh but when she didn't he rolled his eyes. "Sex before marriage is definitely not a pureblood tradition, Hermione, and unwed pregnancy even less so."

"Oohh," she shook her head. "You're a horrible friend. She's going to get in trouble and you're happy about it."

He shrugged. "She's happy, too. Just for different reasons."

"So...you're not with her?" she asked, feeling herself turn a traitorous red.

"Would it matter if I was?" he asked, softly, stepping closer to her.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, watching as a different grin slowly spread across his face.

He reached for her, pulling her gently towards him and wrapping an arm around her waist as his other hand cupped her cheek. Slowly, he leaned forward to capture her lips, his eyes never leaving hers until the moment they kissed. She leaned into him, breathing his scent deeply through her nose and tasting him clearly on her tongue. When he licked her bottom lip she eagerly opened up to him, feeling his tongue slide along hers once more. Her hands slid up his chest until she had his collar in both hands, anchoring him to her, though the grip on her waist suggested that he had no intention of letting her go. When they finally pulled back they were both breathing harder than normal.

"No," he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek. "I'm not with Pansy, or anyone else for that matter."

She watched his grey eyes searching hers, waiting for her to speak. Casting about for her Gryffindor courage, for that woman she had seen making love to this man with a confidence she didn't know she had possessed, she grinned. "Would you like to change that?" she asked him, saucily.

His eyes widened and he chuckled, a deep and penetrating sound that reverberated through his chest and into hers. "Yes, I would," he murmured before leaning down and kissing her again. Her stomach flopped pleasantly and she reached up, winding her arms around his neck. His hand dropped from her face to join the one on her waist and suddenly he was reaching down and pulling her fully into his arms.

"Draco!" she pulled back. "What are you—" She started to laugh as he hoisted her up, clearly intending to carry her out of the room. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist for support but the sudden movement had caused a sharp pain to stab behind her eyes and Draco noticed as her laugh turned into a hiss of pain. Closing her eyes tightly, she pressed her fingers to her temples.

"Hermione, are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Mmmhmm," she nodded, her eyes still closed. "Headache. Too much crying."

"I'm sorry, love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The words sent a thrill through her and the memory of him doing the same thing to her on the dance floor drifted through her mind. "Is your headache remedy in the same place as your hangover cure?"

She grinned guiltily and opened her eyes to see him smiling back. "Yes, it is."

"Off we go then," he turned with her in his arms and she clutched as his shoulders for balance.

"Draco, I can walk!"

"But I prefer this," he told her, walking into the bathroom with her and depositing her on the small counter top. He reached behind her to open the mirror cabinet and she leaned her head against his chest to avoid getting cracked in the head with said mirror. He rifled through her cabinet for a few seconds before he pulled out a jar and closed the mirror. She held out her hand without moving her head for the jar but he didn't place it in her hand.

"Hermione...did you take some of this before you went to the Social on Friday?" he asked, his voice curious. She looked up at him to find him eyeing the nearly empty bottle in his hand.

She cast her mind back. She remembered putting on her make up in here and..."Yes, I did, why?"

He turned his gaze on her incredulous. "You silly, silly woman," he murmured.

She bristled. "Hey mister! I'll have you know—"

"That when you mix a pain potion, like this headache remedy, with alcohol it triples the effects of said alcohol and can cause not only heavy nausea and vomiting but also memory loss and a lack of inhibition?" he finished for her, his eyebrow quirked at her.

She opened her mouth, her eyes darting between the potion and his amused expression before closing it suddenly. "Damn," she muttered.

Draco laughed and shook his head, kissing her quickly on the lips.

"And here I always thought you were the brightest witch of our age."


End file.
